Felicity's expression changed somewhat, not to one of fear but of disappointment. Cyrilla and Feldar were not willing to trust her as she hoped they would. She wanted to believe that her crusade was their crusade as well. After all, how could it not be? She was out righting the wrongs that have been made as any good Jedi would. So why was it that these two weren't willing to make that leap of faith with her?

"I'm ready to go in then," she said to the guard, though her tone did not betray any sense of fear or apprehension. Rather she sounded confident and ready to face whatever was to come.

Felicity was led through the casino by another guard who brought the Jedi up to an office that overlooked the main floor through a single large pane of transparisteel. To the side of it was the desk belonging to Dorval the Hutt. Unlike a lot of Hutts, Dorval didn’t use a hoversled as his primary means of transportation even though he was certainly wealthy enough to afford it. It was a quirk of the Trinivii Hutts that they preferred to move around under their own power even though such a thing was normally seen as a diminishment of status in Hutt culture.

Dorval was flanked by his Gotal security chief, Akka Loral. The Hutt was no fool. He knew that even without a lightsaber, a Jedi could be extremely dangerous, but it was the lightsaber that he was most concerned with. He was confident that he could deal with whatever else a Jedi might try and throw at him. Hutts were resilient creatures, durable in body and mind. Akka was simply additional insurance.

“Welcome, Felicity Sage,” Dorval said to her calmly as she was led inside. “What brings a member of such an esteemed Jedi family to my door?”

"It's about a man named Deke Sarden," she said, "I've come to negotiate his release from the debt he owes you."

"Excuse me," Dorval replied though whether he was surprised or not was difficult to tell.

"Your people beat him senseless, left him bloody in the street. I want it to stop and I'm willing to pay whatever the cost. If money is what you want then you'll have it, my family has many resources," Felicity was on a roll now and she couldn't stop herself. She was doing the right thing and that feeling inside of her spurred her forward.

Dorval didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. If this was on the level, then Felicity’s altruism could put Kalja Leidias to shame. “Interesting…” he said as he mused it over. “I’m more than happy to let you pay off his debts. The money is all I’m after. I have no grudge against Sarden other than that.”

He leaned forward a bit. “But I’m curious, young Jedi, if you’ve thought this through. Will you be back the next time Sarden puts himself in debt to my casino? How about the others that are in the same situation as him? He’s not the only one who doesn’t know when to cut his losses. Some even owe me far more than Sarden.”

"Well--," Felicity stopped, biting her lip nervously. She really hadn't thought that far ahead. She just saw a problem taking place in front of her and then set out to solve it. It never occurred to her that similar problems were taking place all over the galaxy. "What are you trying to say," she asked finally, her self confidence breaking slightly when she realized she had no idea how to proceed. A state of being that came unnaturally to her. Felicity Sage always had a plan, though more often than not that plan is usually cobbled together through many spur of the moment decisions.

Dorval grinned back at the Jedi. “I’m just trying to find out how far you’re willing to go to help these people. I have a proposition that will let you get everyone on my list out of debt at once, help do the same for several more in the same situation, and it won’t cost you a single credit.”

Felicity looked at him, a little unsure at what seemed like something too good to be true but said nothing, so Dorval took that as his cue to continue. “As you may already be aware, Force-users aren’t allowed in most casinos because the Force gives you a powerful tool in games of chance that’s nearly impossible to detect or prove. I want you to use your gifts to break the bank, so to speak, of the chief rival to my casino on Nar Shaddaa; a place called the Gilded Palace, owned by a Hutt known as Yabo Odominic Kanan.”

Dorval laced his pudgy fingers together as he leaned back. “The Palace has its own debtors list, but you’ll find that Yabo isn’t nearly as reasonable as I am when it comes to collecting on debts. He’s much more vicious. If you break the bank at Yabo’s casino, it will put him in a weakened position and I can buy the place out from under him.”

Dorval could see that Felicity had her doubts about what he was proposing, but he had yet to tell her what she would get out of it. “If you can do this for me, I will not only absolve everyone on my list of their debts, I will also do the same for those who owe to the Gilded Palace. All free of charge.”

“I can provide you with a fake identity and seed money for 10,000 credits to get you started. The rest will be up to you,” he added. “I realize that you feel this might conflict with your Jedi ideals, but keep in mind that you’ll be helping over a hundred people at the very least with this one act if you’re successful. As far as the money you’d win… keep it. Use it however you see fit. It won't be my money you'll be taking and you can probably put it to better use than Yabo.”

Dorval allowed a slow smile to creep onto his features. “It’s not a bad deal at all, wouldn’t you agree?”

Feldar was studying his mechanical arm. He inadvertently allowed Cyrilla's question to hang in the air for several long seconds, but just before she repeated it, he looked up absentmindedly and asked, "What?"

She frowned at him. "Is something wrong?" she asked, probably reaching out with her Jedi senses. Typically, Jedi did not get easily distracted, and when they did, other Jedi took notice.

But Feldar assuaged her suspicions. "No, no," he answered, "I was just thinking. When I built this arm, I only had a singular purpose for it in mind - use as an arm. But this situation, with the guard demanding that we give up our lightsabers, got me thinking that maybe some modifications are in order." He smiled and began to speak a bit more quickly as he warmed up to his favorite subject. "I think that with some very minor modifications, I could adapt one of the structural cavities in the forearm to house my lightsaber hilt." He began to trace with his biological index finger the areas he was discussing. "I could expand this section near the wrist here, install a motile sled using ball-bearings and springs, so it wouldn't be subject to electromagnetic interference. That way, even if the entire arm is made useless by an EM pulse or an ion blast, the sled would still function with the press of a small, internal switch near the elbow, here. A quick tap of that, and the lightsaber would be extended into the reach of the mechanical hand, but easily accessible with my biological hand in case of emergencies. Only the most detailed scans would be able to differentiate the lightsaber from the rest of the arm, since its architecture would be hidden in the casing and its power source would be camouflaged by all the energy flowing around it. It would be just as available as it is on my belt, but no one could disarm me without... well, taking off my arm."

Without glancing at Cyrilla, he asked her, "What do you think?" With his interest piqued, he had completely forgotten that Cyrilla was not an engineer.

"But I would be cheating," Felicity said, her inner conscious struggling with the implications of this task.

"That would be the idea, yes," Dorval replied, "but think of all the lives you would save."

"And what would happen to them if I don't?"

Dorval shrugged, a strange gesture coming from a Hutt. "You saw what happened to Sarden. Imagine that and worse for those who owe money to the Gilded Palace."

Felicity fell silent for a long time. A hundred people was a lot of lives she could save, but at the same time she would be betraying her own principles. Cheating and gambling? That isn't the Jedi way. Still her thoughts wandered to Sarden and the state she had found him in. If she didn't do something now a lot of people could end up just like him. Some of them might even be killed.

"You promise you'll abolish their debts?"

The Hutt smiled, he had her hooked now. "I give you my word."

"Then I--I'll do it," she said but her internal conscious still struggled with the question of whether or not this was the right thing to do. Lives were at stake here and she had to do something. Dorval's offer was her best option at saving as many people as she could. Though of course it never occurred to her that many of these people would just end up right back where they started from owing money to the new owner of the Gilded Palace long after Felicity and her friends had left...

**********

Outside the casino as Feldar and Cyrilla quietly conversed with each other a sudden commotion drew their attention. An explosion tore a huge chunk out of a nearby building as a speeder flew past far over their heads. Three more speeders appeared following the first, their occupants firing various blaster weapons at the vehicle they pursued and one of them even had a shoulder mounted rocket launcher. The three speeders sped past the casino where the two Jedi now stood, continuing their pursuit and causing a hell of a lot of mayhem...

Even though she was not an engineer, Cyrilla listened intently, more intrigued by Feldar’s enthusiasm than by the actual subject. This was his element, she realized, fiddling and tinkering with electronics and robotics. She wondered if the Force gave him a natural affinity for the trade, like how manipulating a person’s biological functions was so easy for her.

“I think it’s an ingenious idea,” Cyrilla said to Feldar’s question. “But if you hide your lightsaber, you lose the intimidation factor. I find that many people are willing to back down simply by seeing that you’re a Jedi.” She pointed at her two weapons. “Have you considered fashioning a second lightsaber? Maybe a backup one that you could hide within your prosthesis. You’d even catch your foes by surprise if they disarm your primary saber.”

Dorval allowed himself a moment to revel in his success. Many with underworld connections feared the Jedi for good reason: taking on a Jedi directly was always an unwise course. What people often forgot, especially in the in the time before the Empire’s purge, was that the Jedi – for all their extraordinary abilities – were still people at their core. They had feelings and motivations like everyone else. All one had to do to deal with them was find the proper leverage to take advantage of that.

“You’ve made a wise choice, Felicity,” Dorval said to her as he brought out a datapad and began making the proper arrangements. “You’ll need to change your appearance before you attempt to go inside the Gilded Palace. Yabo’s people aren’t as good as mine when it comes to gathering intelligence, but even they will recognize a member of the Sage family without a proper disguise. If he figures out who you are, then this will all be for nothing.”

Now this whole thing really seemed shady, not only did she have to cheat and gamble but she had to lie, too? This really didn't feel like the right choice but her thoughts kept coming back to Sarden and all the people that were like him, each of them condemned by their own poor choices. She was doing this for them, that made it right and she held onto that thought to strengthen herself.

"You're the expert," she said with a shrug, then she glanced down at her Jedi robes. "I guess I'll need some new clothes," she added as an aside.

“Make it something provocative,” Dorval suggested, “something you wouldn’t expect a Jedi to wear. Dyeing your hair a different color and getting some false contacts would also be a good idea.” The Hutt eyed her appraisingly. “In fact, we can do all that here. I’m sure we have a spare dress for the stage girls that would work for you. By the time you’re done, I should have the fake ID and money ready for you.”

He looked over to his chief of security. “Akka, show Felicity to one of the spare dressing rooms.”

The Gotal raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Me?”

“The fewer people who know about what we’re doing, the less likely it is to be leaked to Yabo,” Dorval explained. “Now get to it.”

Akka nodded, but didn’t seem happy about it. “As you wish,” he said as he walked up to Felicity. “Follow me.”

Feldar glanced at her. He barely suppressed a sigh. Here he was, discussing engineering, and Cyrilla brought politics back into it. He did not much like politics. Political things were never easy to fix.

"Intimidation," Feldar answered, trying not to let the word drip with his distaste for it, "is not my primary concern. I believe that the path the Force leads me down is to a place of serenity, where violence is used only as a last resort." If then, he did not add. He knew Cyrilla would object, at least internally, to his opinion on this matter. He did not want to send her into a rage with even the remotest suggestion that complete pacifism had any place in the Jedi life. She was so militant. She saw a galaxy filled with foes and people who needed intimidating. She wasn't afraid of much, if anything at all, but she lived in a world of suspicion. Feldar couldn't understand that; the galaxy wasn't filled with the enemies of the Jedi. It was just filled with people. And those people needed help, including - especially - the ones who were enemies of the Jedi.

But beyond his preferential opposition to intimidation, Feldar doubted that what Cyrilla said was even true. On two occasions now, since leaving Ossus, common street thugs and lowlife mercenary guards had scoffed in their faces, because "Jedi don't just kill people." Perhaps, as Cyrilla implied back on Elysium, they would fear a Sith, and the Sith also carried lightsabers (most of the time, Feldar had heard). But he knew that he could never lie in order to intimidate; it wasn't in him. So when criminals saw him, lightsaber or no, they would see a diminutive rodent with an aversion to killing except in defense. Having his lightsaber attached to his belt instead of hidden in his arm would make no difference in that assessment.

Felicity could barely recognize herself. She had gone from having dark hair and green eyes to having light hair and blue eyes, and the blue dress she wore was nothing like the Jedi robes she was accustomed too. It felt airy and revealed way to much leg and cleavage, she practically felt naked just wearing the thing. The worst was the heels, though. Akka had given her four inch stiletto heels to wear with the dress and just balancing in them proved a challenge let alone actually walking.

"Okay, so what do I do," she said when she was back in Dorval's office, "I've never cheated before."

Dorval was briefly thrown by Felicity’s statement. No one could be that naïve. “You’re kidding…”

A shake of Felicity’s head said otherwise.

The Hutt tried to ignore the sudden misgivings he had with the plan. He had assumed a Jedi would be more experienced than this in the ways of the galaxy. Perhaps he had been spoiled too much by his association with Caitlyn Sinclair. He had a feeling that she would have known exactly what to do, though she might not have been as easy to convince.

Dorval didn’t allow his doubts to surface though. “That’s fine. In fact you can use your… innocence… to your advantage. Hopefully Yabo and his people will see you as an easy mark and won’t be watching you too closely until it’s too late.”

“You’ll want to focus on games that use chance cubes or other physical objects,” he said to her. “With a slight manipulation of the Force, you can make it so that they always roll in your favor. A good way to stay out of suspicion is to lose the small bets, but win the big ones. The Force might also help you with the lugjack machines by indicating which ones are about to pay out big. You can also try betting on the sporting events if you’re the kind of Jedi that gets premonitions or visions.”

“Stay away from the card games,” he added after a little thought. “Jedi or not, experienced players will be able to read someone like you like a datapad. They’ll know when you’re bluffing and when you aren’t. A good player can take you for all you’re worth.”

Dorval grinned. “And since you’re quite attractive by most humanoid standards, don’t be afraid to show a little skin to distract the other gamblers. If they’re paying attention to you, then they’re not paying attention to the game. You'd be surprised how often that works on people.”

Cyrilla hesitated, having sensed the discomfort in Feldar. Her comment had evidently touched a cord, and while she was tempted to pursue it further, she couldn’t bring herself to start another conflict. So, instead, she shrugged, “That’s fine. I guess two blades can sometimes be less useful than a single one.”

Before she could add anything else, the screech of some speeders and the roar of an armor-piercing, anti-tank rocket split the air. The thunder crack of an explosion was followed immediately by one of the speeders plummeting to the ground in a trail of flame.

Cyrilla and Feldar ducked instinctively. The Cathar glanced warily at the fireball where the speeder had cratered into the ferrocrete. She sighed. “I hate Nar Shadda. I hate this ‘mission’ that we’re on. Should we go see what’s going on, check for survivors?” Her voice made it clear that she really did not want to, and would have preferred to spend the day in some peaceful cantina.

Feldar resisted the urge to glower at her. He also resisted the urge to answer, "Of course." He did not think they had the time. Instead, he took off running as quickly as his small frame would take him toward the scene. He hoped Cyrilla would follow him; the survivors would need an experienced healer.

While he ran, he kept his eyes on the sky. The three pursuing speeders were coming back around, presumably to make sure that their targets were dead. Feldar reached out with the Force, trying to detect their intentions: were they some kind of law enforcement agency, sent to track down fugitives? Or were they simply out for blood? Remembering that he was on Nar Shaddaa, Feldar doubted that there was any legitimacy to the attackers' actions, excepting the authority of a local Hutt. At the risk of angering some unknown crime lord, Feldar sprinted straight for the downed speeder. Reaching it, he turned to see the three speeders bearing down on his position. The occupants had blasters pointed at him, but had ceased firing for the moment - then Feldar saw a passenger of the central speeder hefting a long, cylindrical device, probably a weapon. It took him a moment, but he recognized it as a missile launcher, designed to take down airspeeders and small starfighters.

He swallowed the lump of fear that had caught in his throat, and he called on the Force.

The passenger fired, sending the missile streaking, whistling toward Feldar and the downed speeder. Feldar focused on the missile, knowing he only had a moment. He could not stop it, not against the acceleration of exploding rocket fuel, but he found that he could nudge it. Reaching with the Force, he grabbed hold of the missile and twisted it. It began a slow, lazy arc upward, away from him and the scene of the crash.

The other speeders had not hesitated to maintain their high velocity. Rather than wait to watch the results of their attack, they screamed overhead. The arc Feldar applied had slowed the missile and brought its trajectory back skyward. Without warning, it met its source in mid-air, about a hundred meters past Feldar and the crash. The explosion rocked the ground under Feldar's feet and sent the remaining two speeders careening out of control. One was able to find an open space and resume its flight; the other had an unfortunate encounter with a towering structure nearby.

As debris rained down, Feldar watched the lone survivor flee to some other part of the planet. He breathed heavily as he leaned against the crashed speeder at his feet. He tried to wipe away the grime and dust that had rapidly collected on its windows, searching for survivors. "Hello?" he called, "Is anyone alive in there?"

Cyrilla watched with irritation as Feldar dashed to the scene, answering her question with action. Her sigh of annoyance turned into a gasp of amazement as the young Jedi deflected the incoming missile and even managed to flip the warhead around into the flight path of one of the attacking speeders, with explosive results. Letting out a low whistle of amazement, the Cathar ran forward to the first crash site as Feldar was peering through the cracked windows.

“That was impressive,” she grinned at Chadra-Fan, and then peered into the window. She saw the silhouettes of a driver and passenger, but neither was moving. Closing her eyes, the Cathar reached out with the Force, and found the occupants’ life auras. The glowing swirls pulsed strongly, telling her that they were at least alive, probably unconscious.

Cyrilla stepped back and tugged at the speeder’s door. The latch was jammed. Wiping her hands on her tunic, she sighed. “Looks like the people inside are alive, but knocked out.” She looked at Feldar. “The door is jammed but I fear a lightsaber might be too cumbersome to cut through it without harming the people inside. Do you have a vibroblade or knife? Maybe we can use that to slice through the hinges.”

Feldar twisted his snout toward his right. It was a peculiar quirk he had picked up in his youth; he occasionally did it when trying to think quickly. As usual, the simple gesture did not seem to help. Even so, it was not long before the little Chadra-Fan came up with a solution.

"I don't have another blade," he answered, "But I have something even better." Holding up his right arm, he opened and clenched the fist several times, creating the impression that he was flexing the mechanical limb. He had considered trying to tear the door open, but his robotic arm was only as strong as the shoulder to which it was attached. He knew that he had to use the arm in a way that would not put undue strain on its biological connections. Taking Cyrilla's suggestion, he decided to go after the hinges. Planting his feet, Feldar wound up for the strike - and punched the first hinge hard.

It was a simple jab, but the powered tendons and electronic muscles of the arm put more weight behind it than even the strongest Chadra-Fan - or, perhaps, even the strongest Wookiee - could have. The shriek of metal on metal stabbed at Feldar's ears. Loose washers flew off in opposite directions as the hinge was crushed beneath the blow. The surrounding metal acquired the outline of his fist. Climbing to the top of the vehicle, Feldar pulled back and let fly again, striking the other hinge, with similar results.

"Help me," he said to Cyrilla. With the hinges broken, only the interlaced dings and dents that replaced them held that side of the hatch. To fix that problem, Feldar pushed down on the hatch itself, compressing it toward the occupants, past the lip it rested on. As the durasteel bent into empty space, its edge lifted away from where the hinges had been. As tired as he was, Feldar worked the fingers of both hands into the gap and began to push. He called on the Force for help; glancing up quickly, he saw Cyrilla doing the same.

The hatch metal groaned, then screamed. Suddenly, unable to take the oblique pressure any longer, the hatch's locking mechanism snapped and the door flew open. With nothing to push against, Feldar tumbled into the open speeder and onto its occupants with a yelp.

With a muttered apology, Feldar scrambled out of the speeder as Cyrilla took his place. She leaned into the passenger compartment and blinked, her eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. There were two occupants, humans, as the Force had told her, and the Cathar placed two fingers on their necks. Their strong pulses confirmed that they were indeed alive but unresponsive.

Searching for injuries, Cyrilla gently probed their necks with her hands. The Force told her that they suffered no spinal damage, and so she judged it was probably safe to move them. Looking back at Feldar, she started to unlatch the first passenger’s safety webbing. “I’m going to pull them out. See if you can call or signal the local medical center. They’ll need to send transport, and these two will need treatment.”

Working together, it didn’t take the Cathar and Chadra-Fan too long to extricate the two humans from the wrecked speeder. As they lay on the ferrocrete, Cyrilla knelt beside them and muttered a few incantations. The Force would begin the process of repairing torn tissue and damaged organs, and aide in the recovery process. Before long, the emergency medical technicians had arrived, and they took charge of the two injured humans.

Cyrilla saw Feldar’s unspoken question. “I’m a healer, but I still prefer it when medical professionals take over. While I can knit their bodies, I can’t heal their minds. Plus, some injuries don’t manifest until hours or days after the event, so sending casualties to a hospital for observation is always a good idea.”

She watched as some law enforcement arrived at the scene. The Cathar eyed them suspiciously, and when she spoke, contempt filled her words. “And they also need to tell their stories to the police, when the police isn’t corrupt and worthless.” She glared at an approaching officer, and that stopped him cold. Turning back to Feldar, Cyrilla smiled. “In any case, I’m glad that’s over. You did great work with that missile. It’s not easy to exercise that much finesse in the spur of the moment.”

Felicity was having trouble walking, she was half tempted to take off her shoes and just walk barefoot out of the casino but a part of her, the stubborn part, wanted to master this. She had always considered herself to have excellent balance, she was, after all, a practitioner of the martial art but balancing on these four inch heels was something completely alien to her. Why replace the comforting surface area of her own heel with something much less than that of a credit chit. Whose idea was that? It seemed completely backwards to her.

Either way she tried to keep her head held high and walk with some measure of elegance, though the end result was somewhere between a half stumble and awkward wobbling. When she ended up back out on the street she was surprised to see that Feldar and Cyrilla were no longer waiting for her. She looked this way and that trying to find them but found no evidence of where they might have went. With a shrug she decided to find them later and walked over to the waiting taxi cab at the side of the platform. The taxi driver seemed surprised by the change in clothing but Felicity either did not notice or she was ignoring it.

"Take me to the Gilded Palace," she told him after she climbed into the vehicle and the driver nodded and pressed his foot down on the gas.

It was a short while later when they arrived at their destination and Felicity stared up at the massive casino with a growing trepidation. Was she really doing the right thing here? Cheating just seemed so wrong, but at the same time she'd be saving hundreds of lives. Weighing her own principals against the lives of others seemed like an easy answer, but she still felt something deep in her gut that left her feeling uneasy about this whole arrangement. Standing outside the casino was getting her nowhere, however, and with a resolute expression on her face she marched herself into the casino.

Following Dorval's advice she avoided the Sabbac tables and wandered over to the chance cubes, after she had gotten lost a few times, of course. She studied the game from a distance, her eyes scrutinizing the players, the casino employee in charge of the table and even the betting table. Of particular interest to her was how the bets were placed, just watching people place their bets didn't really explain much beyond the fact that each square on the betting table matched one side or sides of the chance cubes that were being thrown. She did notice that some of the faces offered higher payouts than others and the reasoning behind that left her scratching her head.

"Would you like to try," a man suddenly asked her.

It was a moment before Felicity realized he was talking to her. "Oh no, I really shouldn't," she said, she wasn't finished trying to learn the game yet, "I've never actually played before."

The man smiled at her. "Well, that's not a problem," he said, urging her over to the table, "Here, I'll explain the rules."

Felicity was reluctant at first but simply watching the game wasn't telling her what she needed to know. So finally she nodded and stepped up beside the man as he began to explain the rules to her. The chance cubes went around the table a couple more times before they finally came to her and when that first bet was placed and she came out a winner any misgivings she had about Dorval's plans were quickly drowned out by the celebration occurring around the table. She was hooked and after a few throws she even found that she was enjoying herself. Now she only needed to win as much as she could before Yabo and his men figured it out, a task she was afraid might be easier said than done...

Feldar shrugged sheepishly. He was not very good at receiving compliments. He never knew what to say. Finally, he managed, "Thanks," and mumbled something like, "I did what I had to do."

Trying to change the subject, he looked at the carnage wrought by the aerial battle. Whoever these survivors were, someone with deep pockets and a deeper grudge had been trying to kill them. He wanted to track down those responsible and turn them in to the authorities. Not that Cyrilla would appreciate that; she had made her opinion of the local authorities very clear. Feldar was not sure that he agreed with her, though; after all, her outlook on life was more than a little jaded. He turned his eyes to the sky. The speeder he had hit with its own missile, he knew, would be useless. Its debris had rained over the area like a hailstorm. Whatever was left of those villains, they would not be pointing him toward their boss. Following a trail of smoke, he pinpointed where the second speeder had crashed into the tower. No doubt the authorities would be there soon; if they were as untrustworthy as Cyrilla claimed, he would need to beat them there if he wanted to learn anything.

He turned his gaze back to the retreating ambulance. Even if he did not agree with Cyrilla's assessment of the police, he had to assume the worst. "The way I see it," he said at last, "we have to find something to do until Felicity finishes her side errand. I don't want to look for trouble, but with what happened here, I'd say the Force found it for us." He gestured to the ambulance. "I don't know who wanted them dead, but when they find out what happened here, I imagine they're going to try again." Glancing at the cops surrounding the crash site, he added conspiratorially, "And if they're as corrupt as you say, this security can't be trusted to keep them safe."

"You want to follow them to the hospital?" Cyrilla asked.

The Chadra-Fan frowned. He suspected that she would not like this. "Actually, I wanted you to do that. I want to see if I can find anything in that wrecked speeder that will tell me who sent it." He pointed to the smoldering hole in the nearby tower. "As soon as I'm done with that, whether I find anything or not, I can meet you at the hospital." In case she had any doubts about his plan, he added, "We can keep in constant contact over comm. You're a healer, and you're better in a fight. It makes sense to me for you to go to the hospital. I'm good with machines, and I'm pretty quick; if there's any data on that speeder, I can find it."

Cyrilla wanted to protest. She wanted to get off this stravag world and away from its offensive environment and people and city and society. The air stunk of petrochemicals, that pungent odor that stung her nostrils and had already started a dull headache at the back of her head. Everyone here, from the gambling addict to the speeder victims to the law enforcement reeked of sweat and grime and corruption. Everything about this planet offended her greatly.

But, Feldar’s logic was good, and it was a good thing to follow through with whatever task one had begun. It would make sense for her to escort the injured to the hospital. It would make sense for Feldar to investigate the crash, what with his affinity for electronics and mechanics. Oh well, it looked like it would be some time before they could get off this pitiful excuse for a planet.

The Cathar sighed, swallowed her own desires and nodded reluctantly in agreement. “Very well, that makes sense. But let’s not take too long. And do stay in touch.” She fiddled with her com-link. “I’ll be on channel six. I’ll meet you at the hospital when you’re done. Sound good?”

Feldar nodded. “That sounds like a plan.”

Tossing the Chandra-Fan a wave, Cyrilla headed towards where the medics were loading the ambulance. “How are they?” she asked.

“Stable, but not out of the woods,” the medic said. He wiped a gloved hand across his forehead. “We’re heading to the General Hospital now.”

“Good,” was Cyrilla’s response. “I’ll ride with them.”

The medic looked to object but a glare from the Cathar stilled his complaint. “Sure thing. Make sure you strap in as the ride could be bumpy.”

“Will do.” Cyrilla hopped in the back of the ambulance and pulled down the folding bench. Making sure the restraints were fastened securely, she looked around in the cramp interior, noting the various medical devices as they beeped and hummed and kept the two injured passengers stable.

The Cathar closed her eyes and began muttering a few Force incantations to speed the recovery process. And she also added a few prayers that the trip the hospital would be nondescript and boring.

As Cyrilla climbed into the ambulance, Feldar began to make his way toward the second crash site. It was about twenty stories above him and two blocks down. That meant crossing three bridges and taking an elevator to get there. As he glanced at the police presence around him, he knew he did not have much time. They probably had a head start on him - and they had speeders. He took off at a run, calling on the Force for endurance.

He saw a few people turn their heads to watch him pass, but most people ignored him. He imagined that Nar Shaddaa was the sort of place where a lot of folks ran - though, perhaps, they were running for their lives to escape mercenaries, robbers, or bounty hunters, rather than running for exercise or to reach a destination. But one way or another, even with his bionic arm, he was generally uninteresting to the common people.

As he reached the first bridge, he heard the ambulance roar overhead, its sirens blaring. Even if emergency crews on this moon were rather incompetent, at least they maintained an air of authenticity. He watched as the medium-sized airspeeder blew past, avoiding the standard flying lanes. It was convenient, he thought, that with the advent of airspeeders, emergency personnel were no longer constrained by traffic - there was always more air to fill. It should have made stopping crimes and saving lives easier. Somehow, though, Feldar doubted that any lives would have been saved without Cyrilla's intervention. He figured that most people who got attacked on Nar Shaddaa - in the street, in broad daylight, no less - were targets of one Hutt cartel or another. Saving their lives would not be good for your own, even if it were your "job."

He continued his run for the second crash site. He dodged a few pedestrians, narrowly missing a couple of Ithorians, who looked terrified to be here. He wondered why renowned pacifists would be on a world like this. Were they tourists? Kidnap victims? Secret mercenaries? None of the answers he came up with made much sense. But he was nearing the building that housed a new gaping hole, and he wrote off their presence as a random occurrence. He had more important things to focus on for the moment. As he got closer, he was able to count exactly how many floors he needed to ascend: nineteen.

The entryway was little more than a HoloNet message room, with a few terminals along one wall and a map of the building on the other. Just his luck, the turbolift was out of order. He cast about for a moment until he found the stairwell access. He took a few deep breaths, calling on the Force again to give him energy. A few moments' focus was enough to reinvigorate his limbs, if only for a little while. At his stature, taking the stairs two at a time was a feat indeed, but he needed to shave time off his ascent, so he did his best.

Thirty-eight flights of stairs later and he stumbled, panting, onto a floor marked with a very large "19." It used Basic digits, but the normally straight, right-angled lines of the numerals were slanted and cock-eyed, making them look more like Atrisian script. The inherent barbarism in the style may have placated the Hutts, too, whose script still strongly resembled handwritten symbols.

He had lost some of his sense of direction in the scramble up the interior stairwell, but a few glances about pointed him on his way. He did not hear any panicking or surprise among the residents - it did seem to be a residential building - but he wondered if perhaps he had missed all of that. It had been more than a few minutes since the crash. Perhaps everyone had already evacuated. He made his way to the crash site without encountering anyone.

The speeder had collided with someone's apartment. The wind at this altitude whipped through the hole, threatening to cast its contents into even greater disarray. The sound was also overwhelming as the air roared past. Listening hard, he thought he could differentiate two other sounds - one seemed to be an electrical short in the speeder somewhere, and the other was... running water?

He glanced around the apartment. He had apparently beaten the police force here; perhaps they were unwilling to investigate at all, and were leaving it for some construction or recovery crew... if even that. He approached the speeder cautiously; he could not tell how precarious its position was. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the cockpit was already open. He climbed over some debris to get a better angle. There were two bodies inside; one was a Nikto of some kind, with bluish skin and fins on its face; the other was a Twi'lek with pale yellow skin. They both smelled of musk and grime, but more strongly, and more noticeably, they smelled of blaster fire. At first, he had been worried that they would be charred by the crash, but firing a blaster left gaseous excretions with a very distinct odor. He looked intently at their bodies for a few moments until he pinpointed the wounds: in their chests, somewhere near where their alien hearts had to be. Someone had shot them - after the crash.

He thumbed his comlink.

"This is Cyrilla," came the reply.

"This may be worse than we realized," Feldar said, "The pilots of the crashed airspeeder were murdered."

Feldar spun at the sound of a feminine scream. A Theelin woman was standing at the threshold of the hallway, which led into the rest of the apartment. She had evidently come from the refresher station back there, presumably a shower, because she was completely naked. Spots ran from the horn on her face all the way down. Her blue hair was damp and matted, and a towel around her feet suggested she had dropped it in shock.

Feldar squeaked in surprise and turned away from her repulsive baldness. "I'm sorry," he chirruped in his native language repeatedly while the woman continued to scream. At last, he realized his mistake and shouted in Basic, "I'm sorry, ma'am! I'm a Jedi! I'm here to investigate this crash!"

"How did this happen?!" she shrieked.

Forgetting himself, he looked at her in astonishment. "You mean the crash?"

She squealed again as she tried to cover herself with the towel, now retrieved from the floor. "Yes!" she yelled back.

"Everything's fine," he murmured, "I'll call you right back." He shut off the link, as well as whatever objection she might have had. Speaking to the Theelin again, he asked, "Didn't you hear it?"

"No," she said angrily. "I'm a singer, for the Vermilic kajidic. I was bathing for my next appearance, so that Fihu might be pleased with me. He likes it when I don't smell like the filth out there. And whenever I bathe, I listen to my music, so I don't waste any time." She paused, then plodded over to the wreck, her towel wrapped around her now. "How did this happen?" she asked again.

"There was a battle," Feldar answered, trying to sound confident in this very awkward situation, "outside. This speeder and two others were chasing a fourth. They shot it down, but before they could destroy it, there was an... an accident. One was destroyed, and this one crashed into your apartment."

She shook her head slowly. Then she wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

Feldar nodded. "I noticed it, too. It's from blaster fire."

She pointed at the nose of the speeder. "These airspeeders don't have blasters. Just missile tubes."

He looked at her, taken aback that she would have noticed such details. "You're right," he agreed, "The smell is from when someone shot the two pilots of this airspeeder."

She stepped closer to the wreck and examined the Nikto. "Hey!" she said suddenly, "I know him!"

Feldar frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah, he's a guard at Fihu's palace. It's only about twenty or thirty blocks away, to the south," she told him. Feldar recalled that the third airspeeder had been headed in a southerly direction when it made its getaway. "I wonder who killed them."

She shook her head, seeming more interested in the mystery now than upset at the ruin of her apartment. "Fihu has his enemies, like all Hutts. A palace guard like this one would be pretty useful in the wrong hands," she said.

Feldar was beginning to marvel at the wealth of information he had found in this rather unassuming woman. "You think Fihu had them killed rather than rescuing them?"

She shrugged a little. "It's the smart play here. If somebody was stupid enough to get the so-called 'authorities' involved, then they would have probably turned these two over to the kajidic's enemies." She turned to him to explain, as an aside, "You see, the Vermilic kajidic only recently returned to any sort of prominence. They were almost bankrupt for centuries, until Fihu turned them around. Some of the other kajidics respect him for it, but others think he's going to steal their business. There's even talk that he might enter someone into the competitions at Nar Kresh next season." Shrugging again, she continued, "Anyway, it's a lot of work to extricate crash victims and nurse them back to health, and to be honest, they're just hired guns. Not the sort of people you risk a lot of money on. But they're not complete idiots, so they're bound to know more about your operations than you want your enemies to know. So the best plan, for a Hutt like Fihu? Kill them before they talk."

"You seem to know an awful lot about this," Feldar said cautiously.

She winked at him. "Oh, I've been around the block a few times. Fihu thinks I'm just a good voice with a great package, but there's more to me than just the aesthetics, babe." She tapped a painted fingernail on her lips. "Seems to me that Fihu would want to send his least conspicuous enforcers. Which is tough for him, because he seems to attract the weird ones. For instance, he's got a Tusken Raider bounty hunter on his payroll - you know, those barbarians from Tatooine? Crazy, huh?"

Feldar found himself at a loss for words. This woman almost seemed too good to be true. To have so much information, and to share it so willingly? Something was warning him of danger, and whether it was the Force or not, he wanted to wrap things up and get out of there. Finally, he said, "So... who are his least conspicuous enforcers?"

As if snapping back from a reverie, she answered, "Oh! Of course. He has these two... oh, what do you call them? There's a male and a female, and sometimes you'll hear them called, um... hammerheads!"

Feldar's eyes widened. "You mean Ithorians?"

She pointed at him. "Yeah, that's it! Ithorians. Seems they're real cold-blooded killer types, but since everybody thinks all Ithorians are pacifists, they pretend to be healers and botanists and practice all this spiritual mumbo-jumbo. So they can sneak in or out of just about any place without having to hide. Kinda neat, huh?"

Feldar started for the door. He had to retrace his steps, and then track them down. If they didn't know what was going on here, then maybe they would lead him to Fihu, and he and Cyrilla could figure out what to do next. But the Theelin stopped him in his tracks. "Where you going, hon?" she asked, "You won't catch them now, for sure."

Feldar turned back to her. "I have to try," he said, about to turn away again.

"Well, don't be silly," she said, "The first thing they'll do is report to Fihu, but they'll probably do that over a comm unit. Then they'll try to eliminate anybody else who was, you know, part of this whole operation."

The victims, Feldar thought. He whipped out his comlink and switched it on. "Cyrilla," he said into it, "There are two Ithorians, probably on their way to the hospital right now. They work for a Hutt named Fihu, from the Vermilic kajidic, and they're coming to kill the survivors of that crash. They already murdered the pilots up here, and they're probably headed there next."

"How do you know all this?" she asked incredulously.

"We don't have time for that!" he snapped, "I'll explain later. Just make sure those people are safe!" Turning to the Theelin, he held up a hand, saying, "Thank you so much for all your help, ma'am. I've really got to run."

"If you're going after Fihu," she said, "I'm your gal. Singing for him just pays the bills. If you want to get rid of that slimeball, I'd love to help, and seeing as I know where his palace is, and who his guards are, and you seem to be scurrying about in the dark here, it sounds like you need me." Her voice had taken on a serious tone. Feldar was perturbed by her suddenly harsh demeanor, and the ease with which she seemed to switch between joviality and gravity.

But she was also right. He didn't know what they were doing. And explaining this woman to Cyrilla would be easier if she were actually around. He sighed. "Okay, fine."

"Great!" she said, "I'll go get dressed." She held out a hand, letting her towel slip again. "I'm Gifirlosarri, but you can call me Giff."

He averted his eyes in a mixture of disgust and shame, but shook her hand. "Feldar T'kappi."

Felicity emerged from Dorval's casino once again wearing her Jedi robes. It was a relief to finally be out of that dress and wearing real shoes for a change. Balancing on those Force forsaken heels had been about the most challenging thing she'd ever experienced. Now that her ordeal was over and Dorval was well on his way to owning another casino it was time to get back to the business at hand, but where were Feldar and Cyrilla? Pulling out her comm unit she tried to call them again and again she received no response. That was strange, what could they possibly be doing?

With a shrug she climbed into the awaiting taxi and directed the driver to take her to the industrial district. Revan's old warehouse had once been discovered there and though she doubted anything worth taking was left there to find the men she pursued were heading there anyway. They must have thought some clue left buried in that old warehouse would lead them to another holocron, or maybe they would find the holocron itself though Felicity doubted it.

She arrived at the industrial sector shortly after leaving Dorval's and after climbing out of the taxi she stifled the urge to wrinkle her nose at the place. The industrial sector definitely earned its name with the number of industrial complexes dotting the area. The fumes from hundreds of smoke stacks fluttered up and mingled into one giant cloud that hung lazily over the entire sector. Somewhere in there was Revan's secret warehouse, she just needed to find it and she had a pretty good idea as to how.

She took at her holocommunicator again and keyed in another frequency. There was a brief pause and then Jade Kitana appeared before her. "Felicity, I'm glad you're safe," she said, "Tell me where you are, I'll send someone to retrieve you."

"Now isn't the time for that," Felicity replied, "I need help finding a warehouse."

Jade seemed surprised. "A warehouse? What the frell for?"

"It used to belong to Revan," she explained, "The Sith Empire uncovered it years ago on Nar Shaddaa, you remember."

"Nar Shaddaa," the other woman exclaimed, "What the frell are you doing there? Wait," she added after a moment of thought, "you didn't get into trouble trying to help someone, did you?"

"Jade, just help me find the warehouse, please," Felicity urged her, "They found it in the industrial sector but I don't remember where. Please, Jade, it's important."

The Jedi Historian hesitated a moment then let out a long, exasperated sigh. "I can transmit the coordinates to you but you're not going to find anything there. The Sith Empire cleared out the place years ago."

"There must be something they left behind. The thieves from the temple are there searching for it now."

"Felicity, the Council has dispatched Jedi to pursue them. Let them take over and come back home."

"No," the young girl snapped, though her response sounded a bit more childish than she intended, "By the time they get here it will be too late. I'm here now, just give me the coordinates and I promise I'll report back with what I find."

Again the older woman hesitated until finally she nodded. "Fine," she said, "but only because I know you'll go off looking for it even if I refuse to help. Here," she continued, typing in sever commands into her console, "these are the most accurate coordinates I have in regards to the location of Revan's secret warehouse, but becareful, Kit Kat. All the Empire's reports indicate that Revan's warehouse seemed to have an inexhaustible source of battle droids and other defenses. It's been nearly two thousand years since anyone has stepped inside, who knows what you will find in there."

"Thanks, Jade," Felicity said then she flipped off her communicator and tucked it inside her robe. She'd only read about the discovery of Revan's warehouse during her studies, supposedly the place housed some kind of alien technology dating all the way back before the Republic. She doubted any of it was left but still the chance to step inside, it was almost too good to be true.

Well, no time like the present, she thought to herself, taking out her datapad and glancing at the coordinates Jade had sent her. They weren't too far away, so that was fortunate. Now her only concern was actually getting there without first being distracted by some poor kitten in a tree... Or at least it would have been had her devotion to her duty not overruled her practical and more sensible side...

The ambulance stopped and the rear doors slid open to reveal two med-techs. They grabbed the stretchers on which the victims were lying and wheeled them into the emergency room. Cyrilla hopped out and started to follow them when a nurse stopped her.

“You can’t go in there,” he said.

“Yes I can,” the Cathar growled, glaring at the man.

“No you can’t,” the nurse replied with a firmness learned from decades of working in the ER. “Medical personnel only. You can wait in that room there. Your friends will be fine.”

“You don’t understand,” Cyrilla said with barely concealed anger in her voice. “There are people who will kill those men. I need to see that they are safe.”

“And we have security guards,” the nurse replied coolly. He had evidently heard that excuse before. “Get into the waiting room before I call security,” he warned.

Her eyes narrowing dangerously, Cyrilla wanted nothing more than to tear out this nurse’s throat, but that seemed to fly completely counter to her goal of protecting two people. A life for two? It probably wasn’t worth it. Instead, she muttered something nasty that the nurse pretended he didn’t hear, and stalked towards the waiting room.

As she approached the double doors, movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Two Ithorians, their distinct hammer shaped heads bobbing, headed to the entrance leading into the ER. Remembering Feldar’s warning, Cyrilla eyed them suspiciously and hurried towards them.

“Hey! Stop!” The Ithorians glanced at each other in confusion. “Where are you going?” the Jedi asked them.

“To visit a friend,” the first Ithorian rasped in Basic.

“What do you want?” asked the second hammerhead.

Doubt began to creep into Cyrilla’s mind, but through the Force, she sensed just a taste of malice and criminal intent emanating from the two Ithorians. “You two lie,” she growled as her hand reached for one of her lightsabers. “Get along the wall, I know who you are. Hands where I can see them.”

The Ithorian assassins had their blasters out and shooting before she even consciously registered the threat. Had it not been for her natural Cathar reflexes and her training as a Jedi Knight, Cyrilla Ky’lik would have been a shot-up corpse on the pavement. As it was, she just barely managed to dive behind the relative cover of an ambulance. As she tried to scramble to her feet, the Cathar realized she had not been fast enough.

The metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils as Cyrilla looked down at her legs. There were ugly furrows where the blaster bolts had marred the flesh of her thigh and calves. The gashes were pink and white, raw, from where the intense energy had cauterized the wounds. They would leave scars.

Those were minor, though, as Cyrilla pressed a hand against her flank. It came away bloody, and from the amount, she hoped the shot hadn’t hit anything major. Not good, she thought as she tried to quell the surge of panic threatening to overcome her. She summoned the Force, trying to find an incantation to shunt away the pain and staunch the bleeding. The pain started to dull, and she could feel her body calm. She hoped it would be enough.

There was movement from around the ambulance, and Cyrilla caught the site of the assassins’ feet, and she briefly panicked as she realized they were going to flank her. I’m going to die, she said to herself. The pain from her injuries started to flare again, and the Cathar wanted to give up and die.

But then, something in her snapped. She was a Jedi and she wasn’t going to let two assassins kill her. She wasn’t going to just sit here like some crippled elderly Cathar and await her death. No, she was a hunter. Her sister had been a hunter, and she had been trained to be a hunter. Cathar were natural predators, apex predators, and Ithorians were nothing. Assassins or not, they were her prey.

Forcing away the rest of the pain through force of will, Cyrilla rose to her feet and ignited both of her lightsabers. She reached for the Ithorian at her right, grabbing his feet with the Force, and dragging him under the ambulance with a furious yank. She didn’t care about the damage that would surely have been done to his curiously shaped head as it ground against the undercarriage. She only grinned sadistically as she heard his shrieks of pain.

Cyrilla pulled the Ithorian from under the ambulance and noted the blood and angry furrows clawed into his face. She flashed him a cruel smile before slashing down with her lightsaber. His body went slack.

The Force screamed a warning, and the Cathar spun her other blade, deflecting a bolt from the second assassin. The Ithorian fired again and again but Cyrilla advanced steadily, using her dual blades to create a shield against his blaster fire. By the time he realized the futility of his efforts, it was too late. Cyrilla had closed within striking distance and lunged forward. Her blade sang beautifully as it sliced through his wrists. The return stroke left him minus a leg.

Cyrilla glared down at the fallen Ithorian as he pleaded for his life in his native tongue. She didn’t understand him, and she desperately wanted to say something threatening and ominous, but she could not think of anything. Instead, she spat in his face, and after a moment’s hesitation, pressed her foot against his throat.

It took more strength and time than she would have liked, but eventually the Ithorian stopped struggling as her foot cut off his breathing and crushed his neck. The effort left her drained and Cyrilla slumped to the ground. She pressed a hand against her side wound and found it had started to bleed again, bleed a lot. Her breathing ragged, she tried to mutter a meditation, but couldn’t find the energy.

Sighing, Cyrilla leaned her head against the side of the ambulance. “Just need to catch my breath,” she muttered. Her vision dimmed, her arms felt like lead, and she closed her eyes.

Giff was flirtatious and flamboyant. But it did little good to flatter her rodent companion; he was continually and repeatedly disgusted by her naked, furless appearance. He was happy enough to be acquaintances, colleagues, friends, even partners with humans and similar primates, but he could not imagine a romantic interest in any of them. They looked like squishy, wrinkled infants, just pinker and taller.

But if she realized the futility of her advances, she made no indication of it. She simply prattled on about meaningless trivialities - most of it wasn't even flattery, just small talk, with the occasional pointless compliment thrown in. Words like "cute" and "adorable" were common, but they meant little to Feldar; they were hardly qualities that he considered admirable.

When they hailed a taxi outside the ruined apartment, Giff told the driver happily, "Take us to the palace of Lord Fihu the Hutt."

The driver, a Quermian, swallowed hard, but was about to obey when Feldar cut in. "No," he said sharply, "Take us to the nearest hospital."

The Quermian breathed a sigh of relief. His four arms moved quickly to get them on their way before a quarrel redirected him to a Hutt's palace. Meanwhile, Giff shut the partition between the passenger cabin and the driver's seat. Then she turned to Feldar. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "I thought we were going after Fihu."

Feldar shook his head. "We can't go off half-cocked," he answered softly, "We need a plan. But first, I need to make sure those people at the hospital are safe."

"Your partner can take care of that," she scoffed, "We have bigger slugs to fry."

Feldar glared at her. "She might need help. I'm not going to leave her alone against two armed assassins - assuming they don't bring any backup."

She rolled her eyes. "I told you, they never use backup," she persisted, "They're a two-person team, and they do fine on their own. But they're no match for a Jedi. Your partner will be fine, and so will those people at the hospital."

"That's not good enough!" he snapped. He had failed to check on the wounded, failed to protect the innocent, and failed to save the lives of his fellows once before. He might not like Cyrilla as much as the next Jedi, but he had a duty, an obligation - the honor - of making sure that everyone made it through this debacle alive. He was not going to fail again. "I brought you along because you said you could help me," he continued, "If you're not going to do that, then you may as well get out now and find your own ride. This taxi is going to the hospital now, and that's final."

"Fine," she pouted, sticking out her bottom lip far enough for a tiny airspeeder to land on it. "But I'm going to be late for my performance at Fihu's. He won't be happy."

Feldar had become frustrated. This woman seemed adamant that they try to get themselves killed assaulting a Hutt's palace with no plan and no hope. Exasperated, he said, "Then he won't be happy." He decided the conversation was over, so he opened the partition to the driver again. "About how long until we get there?" he asked.

"Only another few minutes," the Quermian answered.

Feldar sat back and looked out the window. He and Giff passed the rest of the trip in silence, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he was completely glad for the quiet.

The taxi dropped them off at the front lobby, but Feldar knew that Cyrilla would have been taken to the emergency entrance in the ambulance, and probably stayed in that area. Getting out of the cab, he started off around the building, when the cabbie called out, "Hey! Who's going to pay for this?"

Feldar looked back to see that Giff had also gotten out quickly. She looked at him and shrugged. She said, "You're the one who wanted to come to the hospital. You pay for it."

Feldar frowned, a little sheepish. "I don't have any money."

Giff shrugged again, a sneer tugging at her lips. "You probably should have thought of that before, then."

Shouts from around the corner drew his attention. He turned to look, but could not see anything from where he was. Looking back, he yelled at Giff, "You deal with it!" He took off at a sprint, not caring whether the cabbie got paid or not. When he rounded the bend, he saw a number of medical personnel surrounding an ambulance. There were two bodies on the ground, covered up by black tarps, and a third being loaded onto a stretcher. He caught sight of the third's arm and instantly recognized it. Cyrilla. Looking around, he caught sight of her lightsabers; whether by design or by accident, both had rolled under the ambulance. As the crowd moved away, leaving only a couple of security guards near the corpses, he called on the Force to draw the sabers to him as discreetly as possible.

By the time he had retrieved the two hilts, the med-techs had Cyrilla inside the emergency room. He darted after them, only to be halted by a stern-looking nurse. "You can't come in here," she stated matter-of-factly, sounding more than a little bored. "You'll have to wait over there." She pointed to an adjoining room.

"You don't understand--" he began.

"Let me guess," she said, "Someone's trying to kill everyone, and you're here to stop them. I'll tell you what I told the last fuzz-ball - we have our own security guards, and don't make me call them."

Feldar stood a little taller - which wasn't saying much - and growled, "You will let me in." He expelled the idea as though he were a blaster cannon; he put more force into those words than any he had ever uttered. He had to get in, to make sure Cyrilla and the others were alright. He had to. He couldn't just sit back and wait. Not again.

Even so, he was almost surprised when she replied, "Okay - I'll let you in."

Feldar pushed past her into the ER, following the scent of Cyrilla's burnt fur and flesh that still rent the air. Once he was inside, the people rushing and milling around him ignored his presence. At last, he found her in a room, resting. She had been laid on her side; her other side and back were covered by a large bacta patch, and there were several smaller patches on her legs. Large bacta patches either meant large wounds, or deep ones - she really needed surgery, or a bacta tank. But she was not about to get that here, on this wretched moon. He moved closer to examine her, and confirmed his suspicions: she had been shot with a blaster several times, and this was all they were doing? He laid his warm hand on her, mostly to comfort her.

Suddenly, images flashed through his mind. Cathar anatomy, organ damage, tissue damage; he saw her body like an expanded schematic, every piece blown out from every other, laid down for his keen eyes to see. He walked around the schematic as if he were in a droid design shop, examining a hologram of a robotic torso. Finding the problem piece did not take long; aside from the epidermal tissue damage, one organ was burned and scarred. He did not know enough about any species' anatomy, let alone a Cathar's, to tell which organ it was, but he suspected that it had to be repaired. Calling on the Force, he poured himself into that organ, willing it to be healed. Little by little, the tissues that formed it closed the gaps that the blaster bolt had caused. He was not sure whether the process took seconds, or hours. When it was done, the anatomical blueprint disappeared and reality came hurtling back into vision.

He was more than a little dizzy, and he felt completely drained. He stumbled away from the cot and collapsed into a nearby chair.

The familiar smell of antiseptics and sterilized instruments slowly drove away the grogginess clouding Cyrilla’s mind as she awoke. She opened her eyes, blinking several times at the bright lights flooding her room, and coughed. As much as she’d been around alcohols and other cleaners, she still hated that smell. It was just a bit too pungent, too sharp, for her sensitive nose.

The Cathar sat up, instantly regretting the sudden movement, and not quite stifled an uncharacteristic yelp. Her flank, her legs, everywhere screamed with pain. Cyrilla looked down, noting the fruity-smelling bacta patches and the thin and uncomfortable recovery gown. She peeled back the patches and frowned at the shiny pink tissue that had formed over her burn wounds. The medically-trained part of her brain noted that the fur would probably not grow back in those areas since hair follicles and the like did not typically regenerate in scar tissue. She had never been terribly vain, but she had been proud of the sleekness of her pelt, but now that was probably ruined.

Sighing, she gently probed at the patch of healing tissue on her side. At least the flank wound looked largely knitted, and that earned another frown. The last she remembered, she hadn’t been able to heal it properly, and it had continued to bleed profusely during the fight. Bacta patches wouldn’t have healed her that quickly, if at all, and there were no signs of surgery.

Cyrilla took a breath, focused herself, and searched within her body, and found that while the kidney and organs in that area were still injured, they were healing, and healing quite nicely. And like the surface injuries, the healing did not look like the result of conventional medical attention, which meant…

She looked up, guided more by her nose than her eyes, to find Feldar slumped in a chair, as if he had fallen asleep. She remembered that he had once talked about wanting to be a healer, so it was very likely that he had been the one to apply the Jedi healing techniques.

The Cathar propped herself up with a wince, shifting a bit so she was in a sitting position. “Feldar?” she half-whispered. His ears caught her voice, and he awoke with a jerk. She gestured at her side and legs. “You healed me?”

“Yes,” he chirped and nodded.

Cyrilla smiled, her normally stern expression softening. “You did a great job. Excellent job. Your technique is very good. Thank you.” She thought he looked almost uncomfortable from her praise. “How did you find me?”

The small rodent shook the woozy sensation from his head. "I came to meet you here, after I finished my investigation of the crash," he explained, "and when I arrived, med-techs were wheeling you inside the hospital." He paused, then added, "I guess you found the assassins." He smiled. The expression was meant to be comforting, but it felt forced and hollow.

"At any rate," he finished, "I followed you inside and saw they had only given you bacta patches. I knew it wasn't enough, but..." He squinted a little. It was almost a grimace. He was not sure whether he should be proud of doing something, anything, or frustrated because he had done so little. Although she had made progress, her wounds were still not completely healed. "I guess the Force had different plans," he said at last.

He realized that he was doing a lot of guessing, but he didn't think it mattered. He didn't really have a clue what he was doing. He was flying by the seat of his pants, as the human expression went, and making things up as he went along. But he was unsure what to do now. Could Cyrilla help him take down a Hutt crime boss in her current state? How long would it take her to finish healing and become combat ready? There was really only one thing to be done: find Felicity.

"Can you move?" he asked, "I think we had better find Felicity and see what we can do about this situation."

"There you are!" Giff shrieked from the doorway. "Do you know how difficult it was to get in here? That witch of a nurse told me that I wasn't allowed! The nerve of that woman! And now, here you are, chuntering away like you haven't a care in the world!" She glanced at Cyrilla, but did not greet the Cathar. "Are we going after Fihu or not?"

"Fihu?" Cyrilla echoed. "What is she talking about?"

Feldar squirmed nervously. "I was kind of thinking we might try to stop Fihu from hurting anyone else." He shrugged a little. "Or at least weaken his enterprise a bit."

The Cathar let out a tired sigh. “You’re acting like Felicity.” Instantly, she regretted the harshness of her words. Feldar had likely saved her life (primarily because she probably would have died under the “care” of Nar Shadda’s medical “professionals”), and he didn’t deserve her scorn. “Sorry, Feldar,” Cyrilla corrected herself, “but this whole errand has me irritated.” She cracked a smile. “And it nearly got me killed.”

She paused, ignoring the blue alien in the room, and inwardly examined herself. The blaster burns were superficial, but her internal injuries were still serious. She guessed she’d be able to travel, but any serious exertion would be hazardous. Even with her healing techniques, she figured she’d need a couple of days of rest before she would be at one hundred percent.

“I’ll help you with this Fihu thing, if it’s quick,” Cyrilla said as she sat up. She tried not to show the pain that was burning her body. She only partially succeeded. “I can walk, but I’m not going to be good at any fighting or anything.” The Cathar glanced at Giff. The alien smelled funny. “I don’t know who she is, but I guess she’s on our side? Anyways, we should find Felicity. Do you have any idea where she is?”

Feldar shook his head in a negative answer. He did feel a little bit like Felicity, but he thought that a vehicular pursuit through a city, and subsequent murders and attempted murders, resulting in the deaths of - so far - at least six sentients, and the severe wounding of a Jedi Knight, were all a little more serious than beating up a deadbeat gambling addict. While the latter was unethical, the former were unconscionable, especially left in the hands of the local "prosecutors," who were really just the patsies of other Hutts that may, or may not, feel inclined to oppose Fihu.

"No," he said, "I don't know where she is. She's probably done with her casino business now, but I don't know where she would go after that. Maybe she'll respond to a comm signal." He pulled out his comm unit and adjusted the settings briefly. He switched it on and spoke into it. "Felicity, this is Feldar. Do you read?"

Static returned. He commented, "I don't think we should be out of range. These things should almost be able to reach orbit, unless there's some frequency interference." He adjusted a couple more settings on the device, then tried again, "Felicity, this is Feldar. Do you read?"

There wasn't much left of Revan's warehouse, most of the machinery in here was taken apart and brought elsewhere for study. The hordes of droids and perimeter defenses Jade had warned her about were utterly non-existent. For awhile there as she wandered through this old burnt-out husk of a warehouse Felicity wondered if perhaps there wasn't anything to find here at all. Maybe she was being led on a wild goose chase and Revan's holocron was actually on another world. Or maybe there was something here and she just needed to look harder.

Grunting from the pressure of moving several fallen support beams to clear her path she unclipped her lightsaber from her belt and held it in her free hand just in case. The damage to the warehouse had been extensive but the structure, for the most part, seemed intact. She had worried that perhaps the roof might collapse on her but after being down here for as long as she was that feeling had all but faded. Now she was being driven forward by a feeling she couldn't readily explain. Twice she had tried to turn back only to find that she was unable to, it was like her body was being pulled towards something and her mind was only along for the ride. When that ride ended in front of a dead end there was nothing she could do to hide the disappointment she felt.

With a sigh she leaned backwards against the wall. "I guess there was nothing here to find after a--," she started to say when a small portion of the wall gave way under her weight and a device sprung to life and scanned her.

A bright blue light filled the hallway and a startled Felicity activated both ends of her lightsaber in response. After a moment the light faded and a low rumbling could be heard from behind the wall. In the glow of her lightsaber she could just barely make out a section of the wall sliding open to reveal an inner chamber. Walking forward cautiously Felicity entered the chamber and was immediately taken back by the size of it. Massive pillars rose out of the ground around her and at the far end of the room sat a large statue, its hands outstretched cradling a small holocron.

She had found it! What's more she had found it before the thieves could. She darted forward, running straight for the holocron when she heard her communicator beep. Without stopping her forward momentum she reached into her robes and retrieved the device, turning it on mid run.

"Felicity, this is Feldar. Do you read?" The transmission was garbled and full of static but she could still hear the padawan's words.

"I read you, Feldar, I found the holocron," she said, her hand reaching forward to grab the ancient Jedi device.

"What's that," Feldar asked, "Say again?"

"I found the holocron," Felicity repeated, holding up the device to show it to him. The moment she took it out of the statue's hands, however, a light came on in its eyes and it let out a low roar as it painstakingly rose to its feet.

"And I think I'm in trouble," Felicity finished, shoving the holocron deep inside her robe and turning to run for the door. "Feldar, I'm transmitting my coordinates to you, I hope you get them."

She keyed in a few commands in her communicator then switched it off. She tried to tuck it back inside her robes but a massive robotic hand stopped her, smashing the ground right beside her and forcing her to duck out of the way. The communicator had fallen from her grasp and was no lost somewhere in the dark. Felicity didn't have time to look for it, however, as the massive droid was closing on her. Climbing to her feet again she sprinted through the door as fast as she could, the droid smashing through the wall behind her shortly after.

Felicity considered turning around to fight the metal monstrosity but in such a cramped space with the droid wildly flailing about smashing anything in its path she concluded that would be suicide. Her best bet was Feldar, the boy seemed to have a pretty good grasp of machines. If this thing had a weak point she was certain he would find it. So she ran as fast as she could, retracing her steps through the warehouse all the while being pursued by this massive robot. It smashed through machinery, support beams and even the walls themselves. A loud rumble could be heard coming from everywhere and Felicity instinctively knew she had very little time.

Using the Force to enhance her speed she made a mad dash for the exit just as the roof began to cave in behind her. She covered the last few inches with a giant leap that carried her to safety. Behind her the warehouse had collapsed into a giant pile of rubble, burrying the droid inside. She breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, withdrawing the holocron from her robe and staring at it. What was hidden in this holocron that was so important to find?

"We'll be taking that now," said a voice and Felicity turned to see the man she had met before along with another she didn't recognize.

"Over my dead body," the girl replied, tucking the holocron back inside her robe and igniting her lightsaber.

"Felicity, dear, do as they say," another voice answered, one that was so familiar that it nearly caused Felicity's heart to stop.

"Mom," the girl whispered, turning to face the woman behind her.

"Yes, Felicity, it's me."

This was impossible, her mother couldn't be here she was supposed to be dead. "But I--I read the reports. You and Dad were..,"

"I know what the reports said, that your father and I had passed away when our base was overrun by Imperial soldiers. I staged the attack, sabotaged our defenses, I let the Imperials in and then I tried to escape.

"And Dad?"

"He found me, I wanted to let him live but he... He got too close."

"Too close to what?"

Helena averted her eyes with a sad shake of her head. "Too close to finding out who I was. I couldn't... I couldn't let my mission be compromised so I..."

"Shut up," Felicity shouted, "It's all a lie! You're not real!"

"But I am real and I am your mother, dear. You are strong in the Force, you know it to be true."

Felicity's body trembled and her hands clenched tighter around her lightsaber. "No," she whispered and then she took in a breath and screamed it louder, "No, it can't be! My mother would never turn against the Jedi!"

Then she lunged forward, her lightsaber raised and ready to strike. Helena's green lightsaber sprung to life and the two clashed and crackled against each other. "The Jedi are weak, Felicity. For years we have entrusted you with the protection of this galaxy but time and again you have failed. Your failure to stop the Cult of Shadow from committing genocide has only proven to us just how weak you have become. It's time your Order laid down its weapons and disbanded. We are now the guardians."

Helena held the girl off with her superior skill and when the other two men moved to join in she waved them off with a shake of her head. "Felicity, I know the pain you must feel, but you know my words to be true. Why else would you entrust yourself to this mission and no one else? Because you are special. You are above them, greater than them. You can help lead this galaxy into a new era of peace and prosperity, all you have to do is hand me the holocron."

"Never," Felicity cried and she attacked her mother with a massive blow of telekinetic energy that sent her soaring backwards into a pile of rubble. She turned to run then only to be cut off from the two men from before. Each of them had their lightsabers ignited as they moved in for the kill.

A loud rumbling, however, stopped both men dead in their tracks as all eyes turned to the fallen warehouse. A portion of the rubble gave way as a massive hand extended up and out, pulling the rest of the machine behind it as the massive droid struggled to free itself from the rubble. Felicity took this opportunity to dart past the two Jedi whom each in turned tried to attack her only to be forced to seek shelter as a massive foot separated them from her. The droid continued to chase Felicity, or rather the holocron, smashing apart speeders, windows and buildings in its relentless pursuit.

Felicity had decided she couldn't allow this to continue and skidded to a halt. The droid tried to smash her with the palm of its hand and she ducked out of the way, hopping up onto the droid's wrist and running up its bicep before jumping onto the shoulder. The droid reached its other hand over to try and squash her but the girl leapt over its head, landing on top of the droid. She stabbed one end of her lightsaber deep into the droid's cranium, doing some damage but failing to stop the machine. The massive robot shook itself back and forth causing the girl to lose her foot and tossing her clear off its head.

She slowed her descent with a blast of telekinetic energy and just as she landed Vash was in front of her, his lightsaber in mid swing. Felicity parried the attack then spun, throwing her entire body into a stunning butterfly kick that sent him reeling. Vash's partner had been there as well and he and Felicity locked sabers for a moment before they were drawn apart by the huge monstrosity bearing down on them. Felicity tried to get some distance and using a nearby fire escape as leverage she leapt up on the roof of one of the nearby warehouses. When she turned around she found her mother standing before her.

"Felicity, please," the woman pleaded with her, "Don't force me to destroy you as I destroyed your father. Give me the holocron."

Felicity said nothing and took a step back. Fighting three Jedi would be hard enough without the inclusion of a giant robot trying to kill her. Without the help of the others she wouldn't last long in this fight...

The transmission broke up about halfway through the reception of the coordinates. Fortunately, Feldar determined that the packet had been delivered, but a disruption at the source had corrupted some of the files, preventing the comm unit from opening the data immediately. He needed to work around the software.

He noticed that there was a HoloNet terminal in the room. It had probably been installed so that patients could contact relatives or friends, or possibly lawyers, to notify them of the situation. But it also looked like the terminal had been installed fifty years earlier, when the hospital was some approximation of new, and it had not been updated or well-preserved. Still, it provided an interface that was more dynamic than the tiny comm unit that housed the data he needed.

While Cyrilla and Giff watched in awkward silence, Feldar set to work. He knew that they had very little time. He hoped the data corruption had been the result of a jamming signal, and not, say, the destruction of Felicity's comm unit because the building exploded. She had said that she was in trouble. This whole errand continued to weigh on Feldar's conscience; how could he have been so foolish as to chase after them? Phooey to the Jedi Master who had sent him after the wayward girl, and phooey to himself for going along with it. He was going to get killed, she was going to get killed, Cyrilla had almost gotten killed, and now he was going off on fool missions with strange aliens to take down Hutt cartels? What had he been thinking, coming out here and behaving this way? He wanted to curse Felicity for running off, himself for chasing her, and the whole galaxy for being such a rotten place.

Suddenly, it struck him that his wandering anger was distracting him from his work. He refocused on what he was doing. He had to get those coordinates, and fast, or Felicity would be dead soon anyway - if she wasn't already. If he had not been acutely aware of the eyes on his back, he might have slapped himself for his silliness. Imagine being so easily distracted as to--

He scrunched his nose up and shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly. Focus! He arrested his breathing, coordinated it, organized it, and called on the Force to calm him and bring him closer to his job. With his mind on his task, the work moved quickly. It was only a few minutes before he extracted the data from the corrupted packet. About the time Felicity was meeting her mother, Feldar was reading off the coordinates to Cyrilla. Then he punched them into the terminal.

"It looks like it's not that far from here," he commented, "Not even far enough to warrant a taxi, although it is on a much lower level. Environmental factors must have caused the interference." As he spoke, he shut down the terminal and put away his comm unit. Standing, he helped Cyrilla to her feet. She was not in fighting shape, but Feldar would take her, weak and wounded, over just about anybody else he knew. Once she was up, she waved him off, and they headed for the door.

Feldar turned to glare at her. "We don't have time to argue," he said sharply. "Help us, or get out of the way."

Without another word between them, he turned and followed Cyrilla out of the room.

As they left the emergency ward and stumbled out onto the street, Cyrilla asked him, "Which way?"

Feldar felt the pain radiating from her; it filled her and overflowed. But she knew the risks, and Feldar was not about to leave Felicity to die, not when they had already come so far. He was tasked with returning her to the Jedi Temple, and he intended to do just that. So he pointed southwest, deeper into the industrial district. "It's about thirty stories down," he added, "But it's less than a mile that way." He glanced at her again, saw her limp. "Should we take a taxi?"

* * * * *

Back in the hospital room, Giff cursed to herself. Then she sat down at the HoloNet terminal and keyed in a unique comm code. The system took a few moments to connect, but when it did, a hologram materialized on the screen. It was a Hutt, sporting a beard and hair, both braided. "What?" Fihu Vermilic Nidd demanded.

"Five minutes after you tell me you've got two Jedi to deliver, you call to tell me that you let them go?" Fierce anger dripped from his Huttese.

Giff sneered at him. "Don't get your tail in a twist," she spat, "I'll deliver them. It'll just take a little more work than I thought. I'll have to do things the old-fashioned way." She smirked. "It'll cost you extra, too."

The Hutt scoffed. "You screw up, and you expect me to pay more for the same results? Try again, schutta. I don't pay for failure."

Fihu leaned in close and rumbled, "You do that, or for any other reason you don't deliver, and I'll send A'Grabh to collect what's mine, in coin or flesh." After a moment of self-satisfied glaring, he added, "Remind me, which is your favorite weapon?"

Giff took a deep breath, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. "I've only been teasing you, Fihu. I'll deliver. Count on it."

Stubborn pride almost beat common sense as Cyrilla debated whether or not to hail a cab. Thirty stories wasn’t that much, but with how weak she was, she wasn’t sure if she could actually make it all the way. She straightened up and grimaced as she failed to stifle a gasp of pain. “Let’s take a cab,” the Cathar admitted, a touch of embarrassment in her voice.

Feldar nodded, waving down a hovercar, and the two slipped inside. Cyrilla watched as her companion gave the coordinates to the driver, and then closed her eyes. Her flank burning fiercely, she probed her injuries with the Force. They were healing, healing well thanks to Feldar’s efforts, well enough that she wouldn’t die from them, but the Cathar also knew that they would not hold up well under any physical exertion. A fight would not be a good thing right now.

Cyrilla sighed, wishing she had never gotten involved on this fool’s errand. She wished to be back on Coruscant or maybe the jungles of Cathar, anywhere but this terrible, malodorous planet. If Felicity had not been so foolish and impulsive, they wouldn’t be in the mess. She’d not have been nearly killed, and her body wouldn’t be scarred, and she wouldn’t be hurting. She wanted to hate that girl. This was all her fault!

Her fist clenched and her claws bit into her palm. The pain broke through her thoughts, and her eyes opened. Feldar was watching her closely, but she bit back the desire to snap at him.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

“Thank you,” Feldar said to the man, paying him with money he had somehow found. The two stepped from the hovercar and onto the pavement before a terrible thunder crack split the air. Glancing at Feldar, Cyrilla raced towards the source of the sound, ignoring the stabs in her belly. She rounded the corner, and skidded to a stop, with Feldar almost crashing into her.

“What…?” Cyrilla muttered lamely as she pointed at the stories-tall droid emerging from the rubble of some demolished building. She took a hesitant step back. “Well, Feldar, you’re the mechanical genius. What do we do?”

Feldar scrunched his snout up tight in consternation. The droid was tearing through the streets, chasing... something. He tried to follow its path, and he saw the flash of a lightsaber battle. Felicity.

He pointed toward the lightsaber battle. "See if you can help Felicity," he told Cyrilla. In her condition, she would be of little use against the huge droid. He would need to rely on speed and the Force to stop this thing, and she was too weak to utilize much of either. "I'll stop the droid," he finished, with more certainty than he felt.

The droid was trying to stomp on something, then slap at it. Of course Felicity would have gotten herself mixed up in something like this, without waiting for backup. As the droid started to move again, the Chadra-Fan selected an intercept course and took off running. The droid had caused enough damage that there was debris everywhere, tripping him up. One stumble led to a bad fall, sending him skidding across the broken street.

He climbed back to his feet, examining his wounds. The scuffs were minor, but his pride was wounded. He paused to take stock of his situation; the droid was still harassing Felicity, who was still in a lightsaber battle. He didn't have time to waste, but he knew that going off unprepared was a recipe for disaster - as proven by Felicity herself, time and again. He took a few deep breaths, seeking the guidance of the Force.

He calmed himself, then reached out to feel the droid. Droids and other machines were lifeless gaps in the Force, but that only extended to their minds and abilities; he could still examine any machine through the Force, like looking at a building or a battlefield. His mind's eye was cast over the droid, searching for weaknesses. He saw a few gouges in the droid's head, no doubt Felicity's doing. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her foolishness; any droid designer utilizing a bipedal shape knows that, in organics, the skull houses some of the most vital equipment - and so if he's worth his salt, he puts the most useless electronics in the enemy's bulls-eye, and hides the vitals in a much more protected place, usually the torso.

All the same, Feldar had to climb that droid if he was going to stop it. He glanced around until he saw a fire escape stairway for a large apartment complex. The building's roof was of appropriate height, and - for the moment, at least - it ran near to the droid's location. He made for the fire escape and, with a little help from the Force, reached the bottom rung. He climbed as quickly as his short legs allowed, using the Force to soothe his muscles and keep him fresh for the battle to come.

When he reached the roof, he saw the droid still close enough. He sprinted across the rooftop. He did not hesitate for even a moment as he threw himself out into space, three storeys above the ground. He landed roughly on the droid's shoulder. It reacted immediately, reaching up to scrape him off. He dodged toward the droid's thick neck, barely hanging on with his own robotic arm. He held tight, his grip twisting the metal beneath it. The droid reoriented itself in an attempt to reach him again. Glancing down, he gnawed at his lip, afraid his plan might fail. What if there were insufficient friction? What if he missed the heart?

As a giant hand slapped next to him, trying to crush him, he decided he had little choice. If it worked, fantastic - if not, he was reasonably sure he could come up with a plan B. Drawing his lightsaber, he reached up and plunged it deep into the neck of the droid, at its base, where the primary joint kept the head attached to the torso. When the blade was injected to its hilt, he twisted the phase-modifier, lengthening the blade. Then he released his vice grip on its plating.

The tiny Chadra-Fan dropped like a rock, his lightsaber cutting a deep swath all the way down the back of the droid.

At least, until he reached what might have been the intestines of an organic biped. Suddenly, his lightsaber - which had been marginally slowing his descent through friction - flickered and shorted out. He plummeted to the ground like a fuzzy meteorite.

Felicity was now locked in battle against three skilled opponents. Two she could handle, but the inclusion of a third... She suspected that the only reason she managed to last this long was because her mother and her lackeys insisted on not killing her. The droid, on the other hand, did not share their restraint and tried repeatedly to squash her underfoot, interrupting her duel again and again.

"Felicity, this is foolish," her mother pleaded with her, "You can't beat all of us so just give me the cube!"

Felicity said nothing, blocking another attack before throwing herself backwards in a display of stunning acrobatics distancing herself from her opponent just as a giant hand smashed the ground in front of her. "That machine will kill you, Felicity, but we can stop it together. Please! Just listen to me!"

"You're not my mother," Felicity insisted, she raised her saberstaff to attack again but stopped when she felt a familiar presence. A smile crossed her lips, Feldar and Cyrilla were here but there was something off about them. Cyrilla's life force felt weak.

Vash and the other man descended on her at the same time but she tumbled over them and tried to run only to be cut off by her mother. They traded blows for a bit before Felicity went low and lashed out with a foot, tripping Helena and knocking her to the ground. Then she was forced to turn and block two attacks simultaneously as Vash and his companion pressed their advantage. For the moment the huge death machine seemed distracted by something and Felicity was thankful but when she felt a flash of warning she turned to catch sight of Feldar plunging to the ground.

No, she thought, forcing her opponents away with a telekinetic blast then with Force enhanced speed she darted over to the falling Feldar and leapt at him, twisting around in the air just in time to catch him and land on her back. The force of the landing knocked the wind out of her lungs and she gasped for breath but had little time to recover as the huge droid teetered over backwards threatening to crush them. Felicity forced herself back onto her feet and grabbing Feldar she jumped out of the way, bringing them both to safety just as the droid crashed to the earth. She landed on her hands and knees with Feldar beside her and after a few fits of coughs she was able to speak.

"Are you--alright," she managed to ask between coughs, looking at him with genuine concern in her eyes.

Feldar was a thorough engineer. So when he built something, he always searched for its weaknesses, and did his best to eliminate them, while maintaining operational functionality. That meant doing research.

A lot of research.

As he came out of his daze, lying next to Felicity, he knew what had caused his free-fall: cortosis. The ore was a rare, but natural, phenomenon that shorted out - among other things - lightsabers. When building his lightsaber, he had considered a few ideas for overcoming the ore, but the power demands would have been enormous, making his lightsaber unfeasible - and he knew it was already complex. He also did not plan on battling a giant droid with a cortosis-shielded core.

"I'm alright," he squeaked in answer to Felicity, trying to smile. His whole body ached; rescued or not, he had taken a beating in the fall. He looked past her to see her three lightsaber-wielding opponents coming toward them. They were not out of the woods yet. He got up and pulled Felicity to her feet. He knew that he did not have the lightsaber prowess to fight - well, much of anyone, really. But he was not about to stand by, not if he could lend a hand. He caught Felicity's eye and nodded; he was with her.

As the three enemies stepped closer, a telltale rumbling reminded Feldar of his fears: the droid was down, but not out. He turned to face Felicity, halfway between lightsaber-toting thieves and a giant homicidal droid. "I can take care of the droid," he said softly, "as long as you can hold out against these three."

Felicity glanced over her shoulder at the machine, slowly climbing to its feet. Its head lolled backward, uncontrolled, but it seemed to maintain an awareness of its surroundings. Within half a minute, it would be interrupting the fight again. It had to be stopped. She looked at Feldar. He was winded and bruised, but he knew his way around machines. She nodded at him.

Feldar smiled grimly. Deactivating his lightsaber, he hooked it on his belt and darted for the droid. It had gotten one foot flat on the ground and was working its way upward. He did not have much time; once it was up, there was nothing to stop it from crushing him with one of its durasteel hands. He needed to get out of its reach, where he could do the most damage. Strengthened by the Force, he leaped onto the mechanical foot. Climbing the droid's leg like a rock face, his clambered up onto its knee, the ran along the steep incline of the thigh to reach the waist. Fortunately for him, the droid was old, beaten, and plated, so it had plenty of handholds. While it was busy pushing its way up, he crawled around its waist joint; when he reached its back, he checked his progress; not far above him, he could see the slice he had made in the droid's back. The plating yawed slightly away from the frame, creating a passable opening.

He grabbed a tight hold on the droid's waist with his bionic arm. Calling of the Force to put a strong telekinetic burst beneath him, he pulled down sharply, hurling himself up the back of the droid. Miniscule as he was, he slipped right between the damaged plates and into the densely crowded space inside.

This droid, like most, had a hard outer plating over an interior frame. That frame was mostly used to support the wiring and gears used to make the droid run, but that left a lot of space inside. For a protocol or astromech droid, that allowed a designer or maintenance worker to reach complex areas of the droid's system to make adjustments or repairs. For a droid the size of an office building, that allowed a meter-tall rodent to scamper through its interior like a rat in the walls of a wood house.

Feldar knew where he had to go: the core. Pushing past wiring as thick as his arms and around mechanisms too big for him to shift, he made his way downward. He tried to follow the original cut he had made in the droid. The noise was intense. He could hear the constant hum of electric energy, coupled with the churning of gears and pistons as the droid moved around. He also heard the occasional pounding. Above him, the durasteel plating dented inward as the droid tried in vain to reach its pest infestation. Feldar smiled; hopefully, that meant the droid was still leaving Felicity alone.

The space got tighter as he crawled further down. As he neared the end of his gash, there was less flexibility in the rear plating, so there was less room for him to move about. But at last, he reached the core. The droid seemed to know that he was threatening its continued existence; it pounded away at the rear plating, trying to scrape out the disease. Feldar supposed that omnidirectional joints and an electrified interior structure were too much to ask of the ancient droid designer who had built this monstrosity; all the better for him, of course.

The core was still surrounded by cortosis, so he knew that his lightsaber would be useless; he left the hilt hanging from his belt. He flexed his bionic arm; it would need some extensive repairs after this mission. Rearing back, he slammed his fist into the cortosis shell. The ore was powerful against a lightsaber, but not so much against brute force. A few solid hits cracked the shell, giving him a handhold to tear open a decent hole. Now he drew his blade and activated it; he plunged it into the core, through the opening he had made. It was the work of a moment to destroy the vital electronics that kept the droid running.

The hum dissipated. The churning ceased. The clanging stopped.

Then Feldar's stomach flew up into his throat as the whole world teetered, then toppled, with him still trapped inside.

Felicity stood her ground as her three assailants approached her. By now Feldar had managed to insert himself inside the massive droid and Felicity had to hold her own against three very skilled opponents.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Felicity," her mother tried to plead with her again, "Give us the cube and I promise your friends won't be hurt."

Felicity answered her by once again raising her lightsaber. "In your dreams," she said and then she charged straight at them.

Helena took a step back as her two subordinates moved forward. Felicity had just about covered half the distance between them when she suddenly tossed her lightsaber into the air. The two men stopped suddenly, their eyes following the weapon as it flew upwards. That was when Felicity struck, nailing one of the two men with a solid punch that sent him reeling.

Vash was quicker to notice but by then Felicity was already inside his defenses and punishing him for it. She caught him with a side kick to his abdomen, doubling him over before she sent him sprawling to the ground with an elbow to the back of his head. Then she did a backwards somesault to avoid being cut in half as the man she had hit before clumsily swung at her after being spun completely around.

Felicity continued her assault, gracefully dodging out of the way of their lightsabers as she punished them with a brutal series of elbows, punches and kicks. She had sent the two men stumbling backwards by the time her lightsaber finally fell from the sky and into her waiting hand.

"Adam Sage has taught you well," her mother commented, "I can see much of his style in the way that you move, but skilled as you are you can't beat us alone."

"I'm not alone," Felicity answered, her saberstaff raised defensively, "I have my family and my friends."

"But your friends aren't here."

"Wrong," Cyrilla said, stabbing at the woman from behind. The Cathar might have actually succeded in killing her if her movements hadn't been so sluggish. As it was Helena managed to get out of the way with only a graze burning her skin. Cyrilla moved to stand next to Felicity and the two Jedi stared down their three opponents.

By now Feldar had finished sabotaging the ancient droid running amuck behind them and sirens could be heard in the distance rapidly approaching. Helena looked at the two girls standing in front of her then sighed.

"I tried to save you, Felicity, but you wouldn't listen. This path you're on is dangerous. If you value your life and the lives of your friends you'll do yourself a favor and stop looking into this."

Felicity was about to offer a retort when all of a sudden Helena turned and started to leave, followed by her two subbordinates. "Wait," she called after them but the trio had already gone.

In the distance the sirens were getting louder and within moments the local security forces would be arriving. Felicity deactivated her lightsaber and clipped it back to her belt. Feldar was still stuck inside the massive droid and the security forces on this planet were bound to ask a lot of questions and expect some answers. Felicity quickly spun and hurried over to the fallen droid.

"Quick," she called back over her shoulder to Cyrilla, "we have to get Feldar out."

The Cathar was more than a bit miffed that her backstab had been so foiled. It should have been an easy attack, a stab that would have taken the woman’s spine and kidneys, but her exhausted and strained body refused to move with its customary speed.

The annoyance built up in Cyrilla as her foes turned and ran, and grew even more when Felicity pulled stole her opportunity to charge after them by requesting her help with rescuing Feldar. The irritation simmered for a few moments more before Cyrilla shoved it deep down within her. She turned and ran towards the fallen mechanical monstrosity.

As Felicity hacked at the metal corpse with her lightsaber, Cyrilla reached out with the Force to search for Feldar. She found his glowing life force within the heart of the droid. It shone brightly, telling her that her friend still lived, but it didn’t move. She probed deeper, feeling for any injuries. His heart pulsed strongly and she sensed multiple bruises and contusions, but miraculously, nothing serious.

Working together, it didn’t take them too long to hack through the droid’s massive carapace and find Feldar curled around the shattered, mechanical heart. Cyrilla gently pulled him out of the chest cavity.

“Can you travel?” Cyrilla asked him, urgency in her voice as the sirens came closer.